


No Need to Say Goodbye

by EternalFangirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Songfic, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalFangirl/pseuds/EternalFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry inherited the Potter family vault on his seventeenth birthday, but got around to looking through it after Voldemort's death. A true treasure he finds there is a letter from his mother—addressed to her unborn child.</p>
<p>*Repost from HPFF*<br/>*Based on the song No Need to Say Goodbye by Regina Spektor*</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Need to Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I was just reading cannon the other day, and the part where Harry finds Lily’s letter and stares at it in DH made me ache. I wanted him to have a bit more of his mum with him, so I came up with this.

 

A war ends in the flip of a coin—quick, immediate, and final. But the longer and much more difficult task is to pick up the pieces of the life you had led before the War moved through your world like a Hurricane bent on murder. Even if the end result was victory, you can never forget the scenes of a battle—the screams, the explosions, the desperation, the fear, and the casualties. Above all the casualties.

 

Harry patted Ginny gingerly as she sobbed in his shoulder. They had all been weeping on and off for the past hour. The memorial for all the war heroes was well-attended, and that somehow soothed his heart. Hermione was rocking herself slightly on his other side, silent tears running down her cheeks.

 

He had seen their faces. All of them. Dumbledore, Sirius, Fred, Moony, Dora, even Cedric Diggory, Snape, Dobby and Colin Creevy… Harry wondered fleetingly how many nights was he going to be plagued by the nightmares of everyone he loved dying for him. In his mind he knew that they had not died for him but for the wizarding community… but his heart held on to the guilt and the horror, reliving every moment of gut-wrenching horror with relish.

 

But he would move on. They would move on. Because life did not stop even if your heart exclaimed at the fiendish fate of a few friends.

 

It did him good to sit in the memorial, and hear the calm and sober priest talk of life after death. He heard the dead described as men and women of extraordinary valor, and agreed. He heard that they were now in heaven, and didn’t give a damn. He heard it all, and heard nothing—Harry’s mind was far away. The pain was coming back to him as he saw them in his mind’s eyes, laughing, grinning, the way Sirius had chased his own tail to amuse him…the look on Tonk’s face when she showed Harry her wedding ring to him… Fred’s constant ragging of his brother… Dumbledore at the Dursley’s house…

 

And he smiled once through the tears streaming unchecked down his face.

 

\--*--*--*--

Harry deliberately skipped the lunch planned after the memorial. As Ginny liked to point out with amazing regularity, Harry was starting to become a perpetual recluse. Anyone would, he thought on a surprising surge of bitterness, if they were hounded by the press oat every available opportunity. He had stopped reading the newspaper ever since his titles went from bad to worse to worst. That is, from Evilslayer, to Darkvanquisher, and finally to The Chosen Warrior of Light.

 

Didn’t they know how that sounded? Harry the Chosen Warrior of Light.

 

Gah!

 

He resented, on a certain level, the celebrations that had erupted all over the Wizarding world last week. Voldemort’s death should have brought about a sense of relief and freedom. The jubilation that the Wizarding community was feeling felt like a betrayal to all the lives lost. On the other hand, it was very difficult to feel cross when you saw a drunken wizard whistling the tune of “Wee potty is the one” near the now ever-full Hog’s Head.

 

Harry grinned slightly as he let himself into Grimmauld Place. They had earned it. All of them.

 

That was his last thought as he fell asleep in the guestroom bed, his shoes and glasses still on his person.

 

Aunt Petunia was knocking on the cupboard door. Time to get up, make breakfast. Harry turned over, wishing he could call out and ask for five more minutes.

 

Of course not.

 

But something was wrong. The pillow under his cheek was smooth and smelled of the flowery smell he had come to associate with Ginny. Ginny? At Privet Drive?

 

No, Grimmauld Place. He was at Grimmauld Place. Ginny had washed those sheets for him, amused when he had told her that Kreacher needed his rest. They had had a pillow fight later.

 

Understanding, he slid from the bed and moved to the front door. The knocks on the hard wood were reverberating through the entire house, thanks to a simple charm on the old wood. Still a little groggy, he opened the door.

 

At first he didn’t see anyone at all. Then he saw the goblin. The goblin was tall for his kind, less than a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. The golden eyes twinkled with something that Harry could define as nothing other than knowledge of deep, ancient magic.

 

“Mr. Potter,” he began. “I have come a little late.”

 

“Looks just shy of the evening to me,” muttered Harry, staring into the twilight sky.

 

“I come from Gringotts to clear some official business.” He cocked his head. “May I come in?”

 

At Harry’s nod, he moved in and sat in the chair Harry gestured to. Meanwhile, Harry started wondering about the minimum punishment for a War hero who had broken into Gringotts—and escaped on one of the official dragons. He couldn’t decide whether or not he was grateful that there had been no such incident before… He had no yardstick.

 

“Would you like some, uh… tea? Coffee? Scones?” Bribe?

 

The goblin looked amused at Harry’s attempt at hospitality. “No, Mr. Potter. Thank you. I am Jallerworth. Let me tell you I am here because you are now above seventeen, and as such are eligible to access your parent’s vault, as well as the gold in said vault.”

 

“Holy sh—”Harry remembered his manners at the last moment and cleared up his language. “—Cow! There’s more to it?”

 

His stiff mouth bowed in an almost smile. “Considerably more. I would like you to sign a few official permits, so as to authorize us to move your parent’s gold to your own vault. It will be more convenient to you.”

 

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Right…um, sure. Where’s the dotted line?”

 

“We were supposed to approach you on your seventeenth birthday, but you were very difficult to track, for obvious reasons. The only time the goblins were able to see you was…”

 

The only time someone had broken into Gringotts and posed a threat to goblin integrity?

 

“…Unmentionable. Also, I would like to say something in connection Voldemort’s death.”

 

Death. He was the first person other than his immediate friends and family to remember that Harry had not killed him. He nodded, a bit wary. What would he say? Congratulations? Thank you? You are great wizard?

 

“Thank you for your part in Voldemort’s death. I will not claim you were the force that led to his death, but you gave us a hope, and a figure to look up to. Thank you for that.”

 

“Uh….. You ‘re welcome.” And I thought Hermione was intimidating. Never again.

 

“You will have to come into Gringotts, Mr. Potter. Look into the vault once for items other than gold.”

 

“Er…. Sickles and knuts?”

 

Another half-smile. “No, Mr. Potter. Family heirlooms, important correspondence and such.”

 

“Yeah…… okay. I….. Can you do something for me?”

 

“Depends on the something.”

 

“Just…. Find all the important stuff and keep it aside for me before hand, will you? I have no inclination to wade through gold. And silver. And copper.”

An eyebrow a quirked. Did the boy realize that he was talking of heirlooms as more important than piles of gold? “We cannot open the vaults—”

“My key. Of course!” Harry jumped up, suddenly desperate to have the heirlooms. “You will magically transfer all the stuff to my vault, right? If you have my key, you can get the stuff to me, right?”

 

“Er… Of course. But let me just say how incredibly stupid you are to trust us, Mr. Potter. You can be robbed of all your gold if you keep trusting strangers like that. Be vigilant, Mr. Potter, or you might destitute.”

 

“Er… right. Bill Weasley. He will, like, keep an eye on my money. On you guys. Whatever.”

 

“Very well,” muttered the old goblin. “The key, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Key, yeah…” It took Harry a little over fifteen minutes to track down his key. Once he had extracted it from the back of his socks drawer, he made his way back downstairs to the goblin. He was staring intently at the little table lamp harry had put there for those odd little moments he did get an urge to read anything. That urge was rare and very strange, seeing that he had no text books to read now. His current read was The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

 

Children’s version—for ages eight and below.

 

“Interesting dust catcher,” the goblin commented.

 

“Thanks. In this house it is little more than that.”

 

Harry had replied honestly, but Jallerworth laughed. “You have a very good sense of humour, Mr. Potter. I am not surprised. It takes an appreciable sense of humour to survive what you did.”

 

Let’s see… Dead parents, an aunt with an obsessive compulsive cleanliness disorder, a big fat uncle who could give Voldemort a run for his money, an enormous tub of bully lard for a cousin, a teacher who hated the sight of him and loved his mom, a two-faced teacher out to steal a sparkly stone, a big fat snake only he could hear, a chamber full of secrets best kept secrets, a runaway prisoner who was supposed to be looking to kill him, a tried old rat that changed into the man who had caused his parents’ death, a werewolf with low self-esteem, a senior’s death just because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and stuck to his side in a time of adversity, a Ministry that had decided he would look good as the ‘Liar Liar Pants on Fire’ brand-ambassador, a dead godfather, death of his best mentor by the hands of a much hated man he started to pity later, and—last but not the least—death of most of the people he knew in the biggest clusterfuck (read: war) in history.

 

A very good sense of humour.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Harry told his friends about the odd goblin’s visit after three days, when they were enjoying cones of vanilla ice-cream on a Muggle street. The vanilla seemed to be a popular taste with Ron—he was on his fourth cone.

 

“Now you tell us?”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“How much money is there?”

 

“Ron…” Hermione’s hiss sounded eerily like that of a scalded cat.

 

“What? I am just asking. You got a problem, mate?”

 

“Nope.”

 

They shut up for a while.

 

“Do you think this is about the… you know? The break-in?” Ron asked.

 

Harry shrugged again. “I think Jallerworth is telling the truth. I mean, I am over-age, I should get the family account.”

 

“Vault,” Hermione corrected.

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Anyways, Ron,” said Hermione. “It’s not like they will just put a sack over his head as soon as he enters the bank and drag him to the dungeons.”

 

“They have deep dungeons there, mate. I would be careful if I were you,” Ron said, then grinned. His white tongue was showing.

 

Gross.

 

“So… when are you going there?”

 

“Ginny was going to go Diagon Alley in a few days,” he replied. “She needs a new Broomstick Service Kit. I will accompany her.”

 

“So… you and Ginny still going strong?” Ron asked in a deceptively casual voice. “Any signs of it weakening yet?”

 

In answer, Hermione struck him over the head with her priced beaded handbag.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

“Here we are Mister Potter,” said the goblin. “Your vault. We took all your heirlooms and stored them separately, Mr. Potter, like you asked us to.”

 

Both Harry and Ginny waited patiently as the goblin, who went by the name of Gogledum, opened the vault with Harry’s key. There was, obviously, a large billowing cloud of green smoke. When it cleared, Harry gasped.

 

“Oh good God! It’s grown!”

 

The mind-boggling heaps and mounds told Harry something of monumental importance—his parents were filthy rich. He walked over to a part of the mound of stuff that had been collected in a corner, and took the first thing that he could—a sealed envelope. On it, in a handwriting he had seen before, were the words—To my baby.

 

Harry didn’t notice his hands were shaking as he opened the letter.

 

Dear baby,

 

I’m sorry for calling you a baby, I’m sure that’s not what you would like to be called at seventeen. Dumbledore arrived last week, saying he fears for your life, and ours. I cannot tell you why, due to matters of secrecy, but I trust Dumbledore to do that at the appropriate time.

 

I’m so scared, love. You are too precious. Too precious to have your death written out before you take your first independent breath. I have a feeling that we’re going to die, and leave you alone in the world. I haven’t told James about my premonition yet. We’ve fought Voldemort thrice before, but I never felt like this. We are the only family he has, little one. He is a nervous wreck since last Tuesday.

 

I did not start writing this letter so that I can tell you how scared we are. For all the difficult times ahead, I want you to know how both of us feel towards you.

 

_It started out as a feeling_

 

 

I still remember the heady moment of shock when I realized I was pregnant. I was—am?—barely a girl, and the feeling of immense happiness that blossomed inside me was an incredibly wonderful, and alien, feeling. It felt impossible at first, and then I just wanted to yell it out to the whole world. I was having a baby! It was, you’ll understand one day, a unique sensation.

 

_Which then grew into a hope_

 

 

I began to hope. For a life, a family, a child. The things that had felt like an indistinct possibility in the future became suddenly sharper, more defined. I could feel my body in a way I was never able to feel before, and I was so hopeful for a new, happy cocoon my baby would be born in—a loving home.

 

_Which then turned into a quiet thought_

 

 

Standing there in the pristine bathroom in my worn out pajamas, I suddenly felt a needle burst my happy bubble. I remember how I thought about James, and wondered foolishly about his reaction. After all, which nineteen-year-old wants to be burdened with a kid?

 

I was so scared.

 

_Which then turned into a quiet word_

 

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

I still remember saying those words out loud for the first time. Your father gaped at me, his mouth hanging open. It scared me, this lack of…you know…the proper reaction. I had seen too many teenage pregnancy movies, and was dreading this.

_And then that word grew louder and louder_   
_'Til it was a battle cry_

 

 

The goofy grin that spread on his face after a few seconds was close to maniacal. He was so happy! I still remember, after seven months, how he had picked me up in his arms, and kissed me so lovingly my lips had tingled the entire night.

We laughed like loons the entire night, yelling the news out to everyone we knew, like it was an urgent battlecry.

 

_I'll come back_   
_When you call me_   
_No need to say goodbye_

 

After we die—if we die—please don’t think we’ve abandoned you at all. We’re right there with you, waiting silently, patiently, for you to call us. Just give me a holler when you need me, and you’ll find me right there. I promise.

 

_Just because every thing's changing_   
_Doesn't mean it's never been this way before_

 

We are shifting to a new location I cannot tell you about because of security reasons. I had just made the Manor my home, and now… All this change is shaking me up.

 

This gut-wrenching terror I feel is not new at all. I felt the same way when I saw Voldemort pointing his wand at your Daddy last year. I will always be grateful to Quidditch. It taught your father life-saving reflexes.

 

Of course I’ll also be grateful to Padfoot, who fought by your father’s side when I was dueling his ~~bitch~~ sadistic cousin Bella.

 

Nice relatives Sirius has, don’t you think? If he ever introduces any of them to you, I’m gonna throw lightening at him from the heavens.

 

_All you can do is try to know_   
_Who your friends are as you head off to the war_

_Pick a star on the dark horizon_   
_And follow the light_

 

 

All the advice I can give you, my child, is that chose your friends wisely, with heart as well as mind. During a war, they can be your best assets, and may know some life-altering answers to questions you don’t know about.

 

Just follow the light of what your heart tells you to do. That is what I did when I found out I was in love with your Dad. That is, after I regained consciousness.

 

_You'll come back_   
_When it's over_   
_No need to say goodbye_

_You'll come back_   
_When it's over_   
_No need to say goodbye_

 

Don’t worry. Once all your earthly responsibilities are done, we can be together again. We’ll have all eternity for reconciliation. If you’re dead, it means both of us—and probably Padfoot and Moony too—are dead too. So don’t worry, we’ll have a rocking party in heaven that will make all the angels or whatever stand up and notice. Promise.

 

_Now, we're back to the beginning_   
_It's just a feeling and no one knows yet_   
_But just because they can't feel it too_   
_Doesn't mean that you have to forget_

 

 

If you’re old enough to operate this vault, I am pretty sure you’re scared too. You must understand the feelings I explained in the beginning of the letter completely. I know the frustration when nobody else feels as you do. And nobody understands. But please…don’t be so scared. Be strong. For us, your parents. Don’t forget, love. Don’t forget us.

 

_Let your memories grow stronger and stronger_   
_'Til they're before your eyes_

 

I hope we spend a lot of time with you after you’re born, but even if we don’t, remember us. Let your memories of your parents take you through the toughest patches of your life, my child. I’ll always be there. So will Daddy. All you have to do is look.

 

_You'll come back_   
_When they call you_   
_No need to say goodbye_

_You'll come back_   
_When they call you_   
_No need to say goodbye_

 

Let angels guide you on your lofty quest.

 

We’ll meet again, when you are done. You’ll come back to us when the angels call you back to the abyss. I’ll hold them onto that. Even the angels are not so cruel as to take a child from its mother forever.

 

So till we meet again,

 

With all my love,

 

Mamma.

 

P.S.: I want you to be a boy, just so you can have James’ messy hair. It would look horrible on a girl. James says your gender doesn’t matter, as long as you have my eyes.

 

Hope we’re both right.

 

Harry folded the letter neatly, aligning the sides together, and then slid it back into its envelope. He could not stop his own fingers from caressing the heavy stationary as though it were his own mother. He turned to Ginny, and without a murmur, hugged her tightly.

 

He couldn’t even stop the single pearly tear from the sparkly green eye.

**Author's Note:**

> Duh…did you notice how scattered Lily’s thoughts were? And how she invariably tried to lighten the mood after writing something sad? And how she scratched out a profanity just because in her mind her child is too young? If you did, give me a review. If you didn’t, read it all over and give me a review ;)


End file.
